looking beyond the limits of her own ignorance, she believed she had nothing to learn. She attracted notice from all; amused some, disgusted others for a moment, and was then forgotten.

This day passed without any material occurrence; and Emily, though amused by the characters she had seen, was glad when she could retire to the recollections, which had acquired with her the character of duties.

A fortnight passed in a round of dissipation and company, and Emily, who attended Madame Cheron in all her visits, was sometimes entertained but oftener wearied. She was struck by the apparent talents and knowledge displayed in the various conversations she listened to, and it was long before she discovered that the talents were for the most part those of imposture, and the knowledge nothing more than was necessary to assist them. But what deceived her most, was the air of constant gaiety and good spirits displayed by every visitor, and which she supposed to arise from content as constant and from benevolence as ready. At length, from the over-acting of some, less accomplished than the others, she could perceive, that, thongh contentment and benevolence are the only sure sources of cheerfulness, the immoderate and feverish animation, usually exhibited in large

parties, results partly from an insensibility to the cares which benevolence must sometimes derive from the sufferings of others, and partly from a desire to display the appearance of that prosperity, which they know will command submission and attention to themselves.

Emily's pleasantest hours were passed in the pavilion of the terrace, to which she retired when she could steal from observation, with a book to overcome or a lute to indulge her melancholy. There, as she sat with her eyes fixed on the far distant Pyrenees, and her thoughts on Valancourt and the beloved scenes of Gascony, she would play the sweet and melancholy songs of her native province- the popular songs she had listened to from her childhood.

One evening, having excused herself from accompanying her aunt abroad, she thus withdrew to the pavilion, with books and her lute. It was the mild and beautiful evening of a sultry day, and the windows, which fronted the west, opened upon all the glory of a setting sun; its rays illuminated with strong splendor the cliffs of the Pyrenees, and touched their showy tops with a roseate hue, that remained long after the sun had sunk below the horizon and the shades of twilight had stolen over the landscape. Emily touched her lute with that fine melan

choly expression, which came from her heart. The pensive hour and the scene, the evening light on the Garonne, that flowed at no great distance, and whose waves, as they passed towards La Vallée, she often viewed with a sighthese united circumstances disposed her mind to tenderness, and her thoughts were with Valancourt, of whom she had heard nothing since her arrival at Thoulouse; and now that she was removed from him, and in uncertainty, she perceived all the interest he held in her heart Before she saw Valancourt, she had never met a mind and taste so accordant with her own; and though Madame Cheron told her much of the arts of dissimulation, and that the elegance and propriety of thought, which she so much admired in her lover, were assumed for th purpose of pleasing her, she could scarcely doubt This possibility, however, faint as it was, was sufficient to harass her mind with anxiety; and she found that few conditions are more painful than that of uncertainty, as to the merit of a beloved object; an uncertainty, which she would not have suffered, had her confidence in her own opinions been greater.

their truth.

She was awakened from her musing by the sound of horses' feet along a road that wound under the windows of the pavilion, and a gentleman passed on horseback whose resemblance

to Valancourt, in air and figure, for the twilight did not permit a view of his features, immediately struck her. She retired hastily from the lattice, fearing to be seen, yet wishing to observe further, while the stranger passed on without looking up, and when she returned to the lattice she saw him faintly through the twilight, winding under the high trees that led to Thoulouse. This little incident so much disturbed her spirits, that the temple and its scenery were no longer interesting to her, and, after walking a while on the terrace, she returned to the chateau.

噩

Madame Cheron, whether she had seen a rival admired, had lost at play, or had witnessed an entertainment more splendid than her own, was returned from her visit with a temper more than usually discomposed; and Emily was glad when the hour arrived in which she could retire to the solitude of her own apartment.

On the following morning, she was summoned to Madame Cheron, whose countenance was inflamed with resentment, and, as Emily advanced, she held out a letter to her.

"Do you know this hand?" said she, in a severe tone, and with a look that was intended to search her heart; while Emily examined the letter attentively, and assured her that she did

not.

"O you

"Do not provoke me," said her aunt; you do know it, confess the truth immediately: I insist upon your confessing the truth instantly." Emily was silent, and turned to leave the room, but Madame called her back. are guilty then," said she, "you do know the hand." "If you were before in doubt of this, Madam," replied Emily calmly, "why did you accuse me of having told a falshood?" Madame Cheron did not blush; but her niece did, a moment after, when she heard the name of Valancourt. It was not, however, with the consciousness of deserving reproof, for if she ever had seen his hand-writing, the present characters did not bring it to her recollection.

"It is useless to deny it," said Madame Cheron, "I see in your countenance, that you are no stranger to this letter; and, I dare say, you have received many such from this impertinent young man, without my knowledge, in my own house."

Emily, shocked at the indelicacy of this accusation still more than by the vulgarity of the former, instantly forgot the pride that had imposed silence, and endeavoured to vindicate herself from the aspersion, but Madame Cheron was not to be convinced.

"I cannot suppose," she resumed, "that this young man would have taken the liberty of